For a moment longer he stared.

  “Well…” Feiyun Xing started as he rose. “You invited me to come by last time. So… here I am.”

  A knowing smile formed on Ren Lin’s face. “But you didn’t just come because of that. Am I right?”

  “That is true. Could we rather speak about it inside?”

  “Who am I to decline my dear prince?” With a playful glint, she stepped aside. The door creaked loudly as it closed behind them.

  There was that smell—the one Feiyun Xing remembered too well. He couldn’t help but relax a bit. As she sat down on her mat, her hand patted the space beside.

  “You don’t look much better.” Her voice carried a teasing warmth.

  “Slightly better is still better, right?”

  She laughed softly, a nod folding into the sound. “You came because of your sister?”

  “She’s everywhere,” he murmured. “The scent of her. The memory of her. And nothing helps. Not the rites, not the silence, not the waiting.”

  Ren Lin leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “Do you feel better here?”

  “I think… I do?”

  “You do,” she echoed thoughtfully. “And do you know why?”

  His mouth opened just to close again.

  Ren Lin didn’t wait. “Because here, you don’t need to put on a show. To endure your parents acting. Here… you’re just a brother grieving his sister.”

  His gaze met hers, and for a moment, he saw not a peasant girl, but someone older than she looked. Someone who understood things better than most courtiers in their silks and titles ever could.

  Her sharp green eyes missed nothing.

  “You don’t have to be strong for me,” she said, her voice soft but laced with purpose. “Not composed, not royal. Nothing but honest.”

  “I appreciate that… but where do I start?”

  “You start here.” She reached to the side, retrieving a sheet of paper whose edges were slightly crinkled, as though handled too many times. “You do remember when I told you I would write for you? Well, this is it.”

  While he took the page carefully, he noticed that Ren Lin’s fingers held onto it tighter. Though, he brushed it off. Ink curled in her distinct script—elegant this time. Not just decorative. Precise.

  It wasn’t long. It didn’t need to be.

  The poem felt like a mirror. Each line carved out a truth he hadn’t said aloud, not even to himself. Grief without language. Anger without a target. The lonely cruelty of being the only one who mourned sincerely.

  When he finished reading, he held the page in his lap and stared at it for a long moment.

  “How do you always know what I’m feeling?” With a barely audible voice he asked.

  “I don’t,” she said. “I know what I would feel, if I were you. And perhaps that’s not so different.”

  Feiyun Xing’s lips parted. He wanted to respond, however her eyes met his—steady, unwavering—and for the first time in days, he felt understood.

  “Your parents…” she said, gently. “They didn’t just fail to grieve. They failed you. Again.”

  He flinched at how accurately that landed.

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  “You loved her, Feiyun Xing. You loved her deeply. And now she’s gone, and those who should be pillars of support are nothing but statues. What kind of royalty is that?”

  No answer.

  Ren Lin leaned back slightly, giving him space while still holding him in her quiet orbit. “Some people are only noble in name. Others carry the weight of care without ever being recognized. You feel too much perhaps… but that’s not a weakness.”

  “It feels like it is,” he whispered. “Like I’m the only one being eaten alive.”

  “That’s what makes you worthy of your grief. Of her.”

  Eyes shut, the page still clutched in his hands, Feiyun Xing sat in the hush that followed. The kind of silence that felt earned. Heavy, yes—yet no longer suffocating.

  Ren Lin’s voice broke through softly. “Still, this can’t last forever, and you know that.”

  A breath caught in his throat.

  “This grief,” she continued, “it’s honest—but if you keep feeding it, it will turn into something else. Something colder. She’s gone, Feiyun Xing. And if you don’t let go of the pain, you’ll start losing her more.”

  The page crinkled slightly as his fingers tensed.

  “She wouldn’t want that. I don’t even need to tell you that, right?”

  His voice, when it came, was rough. “Then why does it still feel like I’ve failed her?”

  “You didn’t.” No hesitation. “You were the only one who really saw her. Who loved her without asking her to be anything else. You were her one true refuge.”

  A long pause followed. Not because he doubted her—but because he needed to believe it.

  “You were more than enough,” she said. “The ones who failed were the ones who called themselves strong while letting her slip away. The ones who watched her fade and stayed silent.”

  His jaw tightened. No argument came.

  Ren Lin shifted forward, elbows resting on her knees. “Do you really think she’d want her memory to be a punishment? You should be holding onto what you shared, not what you lost. The laughter, the late talks, the loyalty. That’s what you carry forward.”

  The ache inside him dulled slightly—no less real, yet less alone.

  “She may be dead, but what she gave you—that doesn’t have to be. Let it be enough. Let it be light.”

  A long exhale escaped him. Something unknotted in him. Something made space for him to breathe.

  “I was right to come here,” he said, almost to himself.

  Her reply came with a soft smile that felt like a warm blanket in a cold night. “I’m glad you think so.”

  Dusk had stretched its shadows by the time he stood. Of course, all this time, Feiyun Xing sensed that Ren Lin had a powerful Core hidden—it would have been harder for him not to notice.

  “Do you have…” His words dissolved as soon as he tried to ask. “Forget it, sorry.”

  Turning back to her, Feiyun Xing hesitated. “Thank you. For this. For everything.”

  She met his gaze evenly. “Come again. Before I miss you too much.”

  The boldness coaxed a bashful smile from him.

  “If you write me another poem, then… I suppose I will,” he said with a chuckle, a shine in his eyes—as if he’d finally turned the tables on her.

  As soon as the door shut behind him, Ren Lin’s expression shifted. The warmth she had shown just moments ago drained from her face, replaced by quiet resolve. She exhaled, her shoulders easing, her eyes sharpening.

  “He really ignored the mask Core…” she thought.

  Everyone was behaving exactly as she had predicted.

  The mask Core wasn’t just a trinket or curiosity—it would play an important role later on.

  Becoming part of the royal family was never going to be simple. She knew that. Not as a princess, nor a wife—not with her blood, her name, her origin. But a concubine? That path was still open.

  And perhaps… there would be another option waiting for her.

  When Feiyun Xing stepped into his chamber—he froze.

  “…Father?”

  The king stood in the middle of the room, calm and deliberate, as though he belonged there. He had been sitting on Feiyun Xing’s bed.

  “Wha—” Feiyun Xing began, but the king silenced him with a single raise of his hand.

  “I was beginning to wonder where you had gone,” the king said coolly. “Care to enlighten me?”

  Feiyun Xing swallowed. “I was… visiting a friend. Forgive me for not informi-”

  The hand commanded silence again.

  “A friend, you say.” The king’s tone turned thoughtful. “A woman, perhaps?”

  Feiyun Xing hesitated. “…How did you know?”

  A faint smile tugged at the edge of his father’s mouth. “Only a woman could make a man forget grief so quickly. Your eyes—they seem less heavy than before.”

  “Is that… a problem?”

  There was a pause. Then the king lifted his hand again, making Feiyun Xing turn his head in expectation to be struck. There it came, a light feeling on his shoulder—a pat? The gesture was surprisingly gentle but still carried the weight of control.

  “It is good,” he said. “Desire means your blood is alive again. If this girl amuses you, take her as your pet. That is your right.”

  Feiyun Xing blinked. “Pet?”

  “We are rulers, son. Conquerors. Everything belongs to us, if we choose it.” His tone shifted colder. “But do not waste your time in the dirt. The mongrels outside these walls are not your equals. Your place is here. Do not forget that.”

  “Thank you, Father.” Bowing down he bit his inner cheek. “I will keep it in mind.”

  “I look forward to seeing you grow. However, I cannot let you go unpunished.”

  “Tomorrow, invite your friend here, and you shall see. For now, go rest.”

  The king walked past him without even spending the effort to look down at him. The sound of the door closing followed.

  As the echo faded, Feiyun Xing’s jaw clenched. His hand went to the sword at his belt, knuckles white. His lips trembled before a snarl escaped.

  “So arrogant!”